


The Wonders that Never Cease

by 9_of_Clubs



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotional Growth, Falling In Love, Hannibal did it and I knew he could, Love, M/M, episode coda, the dawning awareness of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little trip through Hannibal's thoughts in the last ten minutes of Digestivo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wonders that Never Cease

He awaits the rage carefully, though he does not think it will come. Feels around for it in the corners of his mind which have driven him previously to draw the knife, to savage and shatter, but when he presses, careful fingers, ready to curl, he finds none there. Only the quiet melodies of anguish, the desolate ache of despair. It starts small, a thrum as the words surround him, fill the room with a desperate frankness that neither one of them truly believe, but grows, loud in his ears. But not loud like the rage, like the first unbearable moment when he found Will was lying and would not repent. He had not understood then, he supposes, what he sees so clearly before him now, had had not even the ability to comprehend, that reaching for the blade would not grant him what he desires. It is a new sensation for him to see in bright shades the distinct details of what he wishes, but to be unable to formulate a way to grasp it. In Italy he had thought to have it in the only way familiar to him, but in seeing Will eyes lidded, but the fear beneath them clear, on the table of another, his lips thin at the thought, the stillness, the dead weight of Will’s body, the interaction with a proxy of Will’s corpse, had altered some part of him irreparably. To think about slicing into Will’s brain now, as he finds it fully functional with an exhale of relief, even if it is telling him in all of Will’s blank insistences what he does not wish to hear.

He awaits the rage, but the rage doesn’t come. Only what had whispered it to life last time, when he had no structures in place to metabolize the new experience of emotion, when the sheer magnitude of pain, both physical and mental, of heartbreak had taken him unaware and moved him to both self disgust and outward furor. Neither approach presently. Instead a clench in his chest, the shortness of breath, an unbearable knowledge of truth, that tomorrow he will likely not see Will, or perhaps the tomorrow after that and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow for an age uncertain. It is tender in the body of the beast, grows with fluttering, fragile fingers, and this time, he welcomes it, this vulnerable point that he has ceased to see as weakness. A bloom of something learned.

A change.

When Will bids him to, he rises, intends even, perhaps, for a step, maybe two to do as he says, it would not be hard, Chiyoh is waiting, his funds would be accessible, more identities in the wind, he could disappear once more, with laughable ease almost, could go - 

But none of it. Not the thought of his home in Paris, nor the crash of the oceans of Greece, not the history he could see, the art that he might acquire, the music he would hear, the strange wonders that beckon him and whisper in his ear, the ability to practice his craft without interruption, without hindrance… none of it does little more than turn his stomach. He is hindered. He is hindered in perpetuance. And for the first time in his long existence of solitude, in his short existence of friendship, and his minute one of love, he acknowledges the fact, understands the implications, but does not shy away. 

He opens the door, steps away, Will’s scent fading slowly into the freshness of the snow, the morning cool around him. The world outside has changed for him, the air cooler, the sun brighter, a lightness he cannot describe to everything, to himself. Perhaps the view from the window has not truly changed, but perception is in the mind, and so indeed it has. Everything has. His last morning of freedom and he has never seen one more beautiful than here, in a small house in Virginia, with Will tucked in his bed, only a breath away. He could think of no righter place for him to be.

A nod at Chiyoh who shakes her head but says nothing and sits hidden in shadow. 

Will, he cannot force, not with words or knives, not with promises and pleas. But he can make him understand this, what he sees, what he’s learned. Give him his life and his freedom, give him himself. The teacup might perhaps not come back together, but they are not a teacup, they are creatures of life and light and rage. They are in love and in a world of shadows, they are the only ones who are real to the other. Someday, Will will see as he does, that is enough.

He will give Will the choice, instead of making them for him as he has for so long.

Wait and trust. 

Wonders, he has found himself, after all, never cease.


End file.
